


Fragments

by AnimusStuff (DarthAnimus)



Series: Gems in the Woods [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steven Universe Fusion, Dark Past, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAnimus/pseuds/AnimusStuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley has caved and moved into Gravity Falls with his brother. They still have a bunch of issues to work around of, however, especially when Ford stumbles on one of Stan's biggest secrets on Stan's first night in town. Ford wonders if you can use science to fix something that borders on being magical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Argument Over a Bed

Of course Ford didn’t expect living together with Stan after spending years separated to be easy. There were bound to be differences, changes they’d gone through in the time they’d spent apart, never mind the average disagreements. The real curve ball was that Stan started ripping into him on their first night in Gravity Falls.

The journey to the town had been quiet and awkward. Many fumbling attempts at starting a conversation had stuttered into half-hearted mumbles that didn’t convey much more than: “I don’t hate you and I don’t regret this yet.” Stan was practically unresponsive when Ford told him to get acquainted with the house while he caught up with his work.

Mere moments later, however, Stan was full of life as he stormed into Ford’s office, startling the other twin from his paperwork, declaring loudly: “There are no beds in this house!”

Ford blinked. Then, he drawled, very slowly: “Aand?”

Stan stared at him. “Why don’t you have a bed?”

“I don’t sleep,” Ford answered. “Having a bed would be a waste of space.”

“What do you mean you don’t sleep?” Stan was vivid now, skin turning a sickly green that with Stan meant that he was about to lose his temper. “No wonder they don’t let you drive if you’re running on no sleep for who knows how long!”

“A giant ate my car,” Ford snapped defensively. He could functions just fine even without rest, although he was starting to think he should have just claimed that his bed had been stolen by the gnomes or something. “Sleeping takes time away from my research.” Speaking of, Ford turned back to the papers on his desk.

“But _of course_!” Stan’s furious voice filled the small room to a degree that the air felt heavy. “Your research comes before _everything_ , doesn’t it? It came before me and now it comes before your own health!”

‘It has nothing to do with you’, was what Ford wanted to say. However, he remained quiet because one, he knew Stan wouldn’t appreciate hearing it, and two, because it was a load of bull. Ford’s years-long insomnia had everything to do with Stan vanishing when Ford let go of his faculties, with his gem needing its match.

“Yeah,” Stan said, voice full of disappointment. “I figured you wouldn’t have anything to say to that.”

Ford clenched his fists. This would all be so much easier if Stan just understood.

“Soon as the stores open, I’m getting us a bed,” Stan declared, voice level.

Something tight inside Ford wound itself even further at Stan’s use of ‘us’. He cleared his throat before saying: “Don’t carry it by yourself. The townsfolk don’t need to see what we’re capable of.”

“You mean they haven’t caught on with you not eating or sleeping?” Stan spoke with a mock gasp. “Don’t think I didn’t see your cupboards, Sixer.”

He really shouldn’t have told Stan to get acquainted with the place, Ford thought with a groan. “I don’t associate with the locals,” Ford said with a resentful tone. Frankly, he had no interest in small town simple-mindedness.

“Of course,” Stan’s voice was thick and dark. “No one’s good enough to breathe the same air as Stanford Pines, let alone being worth of his precious time.” The door slammed shut after Stan’s footfalls stomped out of the room.

Having looked up at the loud sound, Ford turned his glare down at his notes, concentration shot. He pushed his chair back from his desk and leaned back with a sigh. Stanley was being so unfair, and he was wrong to boot too. After all, didn’t Ford still seek out his company, despite all the reasons he shouldn’t? Naturally Ford would prioritize who actually mattered.

 

* * *

 

What was he even doing? Stan had rarely felt as lost as he did when he measured the rooms in the cabin with his eyes, trying to mentally fit a bed in one of them. This place felt so dreary and Stan had no idea how to make it feel like home. He wondered why he was even trying.

Frankly, long term planning was not Stan’s strong suit. He wasn’t exactly one to really think about the how’s of a plan. Any problems that needed solving would be tackled on a case by case basis, with Stan relying more on gut instinct than anything else.

When he’d made up his mind about buying a bed, he went out and got one. He drove to the downtown of the small town of Gravity Falls and picked out a small double bed to haul back. Even paid for it and everything. The mattress came cheap, after Stan satisfied the clerk’s curiosity for shore city life, and the locals were very eager to help Stan strap the bed frame and mattress onto his car once they found out the Stan had out-of-town stories to share.

Really, if a good tale was almost as good as currency here, Stan could just about consider never leaving again.

Even though Stan was mentally talking Gravity Falls up, there was no need for it; he’d already made up his mind. He intended to stay. Ford had admitted that he needed Stan and Stan wasn’t one to leave his brother hanging. And the first thing he’d do to take care of his twin was to make this place seem more like a home.

It was really no wonder that Ford was so unpleasantly prickly if he didn’t let himself rest. Just because they could go without sleep didn’t mean it was healthy for them to forgo it. Shermie at least hadn’t put up with Stan trying to stay up through the night during the time he’d stayed with them and their life partner.

Shermie had been kind of boring with their rule-abiding nature, but they’d always given Stan solid advice. Shermie always seemed to know more than they let on. More than once Stan had gotten the impression that Shermie knew at least somewhat why Stan had come running to them a year previously. Even if Shermie had known, though, they hadn’t pried.

The threat of unpleasant memories attempting to resurface was just the thing Stan needed to get himself started on transporting the bed indoors. He had to move things around a bit, but the largest inner room became the designated bedroom where Stan easily hauled the mattress into, followed by the box with the bed parts.

Now, Stan didn’t consider himself terribly bright, but he was handy enough with his hands, especially after several years of trying to make a living on the streets. This was an advantage when putting together a bed frame. There wasn’t much time wasted hesitating over what belonged where, and Stan’s superhuman strength made lifting even the largest pieces around a piece of cake. Soon enough, the finished bed rested in the middle of the room.

Stan frowned at the end result. He’d forgotten to pick up bed sheets. There was no way Ford had any lying around here among his spooky scary skeletons of whatever critters and other knick-knacks.

Frankly, Stan was too exhausted to care about the lack of sheets and bedcovers. He had a suitably comfortable mattress and a bed frame and that would have to be enough. He didn’t want his exhaustion to turn him into another Ford, grumpy and needlessly unpleasant.

Despite being tired enough to zonk out immediately, Stan was still drifting between wakefulness and sleep when he felt the mattress dip. With a grunt he turned towards his brother, who shifted around nervously for a few minutes before hissing: “I changed my mind about sleeping.”

Releasing a huff, Stan allowed himself to be pushed back around by the shoulder. He lied down on his front as he used to do as a teen. Ford then carefully laid down over his back, releasing a soft sigh against Stan’s gem.

Suddenly Ford’s body stiffened against Stan’s and Stan started to resign himself to the fact that he still wouldn’t be getting any sleep with Ford’s attention constantly chasing new ideas.

Ford touched a hand to Stan’s gem and Stan was reminded of the reason why showing his back to his brother while only in a tank top was a bad idea. Most likely Ford’s attention hadn’t been caught by a stray thought after all.

“What did this?” Ford’s breathless voice asked while the man gently rubbed the narrow crack in Stan’s gem.

“It’s nothing,” Stan growled, voice low.

Ford was making small, distressed sounds now. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” he insisted. “It looks painful.”

“It’s not,” Stan grunted, more to the pillow in his face than to his brother behind him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Right,” Ford said with a scoff. “You saying that will automatically make my worry evaporate; that’s how it works.”

Stan shifted forward to move away from underneath Ford’s weight. Still, his brother’s hand refused to leave his gem, like Ford could somehow mend it together with his worried touch. Stan tried to convince himself that he was annoyed by that. “Don’t sass me, nerd.”

“Shut up,” was all Ford said before he flopped down on the bed behind Stan. Then he proceeded to wrap himself around Stan until they were very much spooning. Only after he’d accomplished that did Ford fall silent and still.

“What are you plotting back there?” Stan asked, because this was still Ford.

“I’m going to repair your gem,” Ford promised and Stan sighed, knowing that there was no way to talk his brother out of at least trying to do just that.

“Just try to catch some shut-eye before you go all mad scientist on me.”

There was a noncommittal sound from Ford but his grip on Stan did end up loosening as a sign of relaxation.

Good. For now Stan could rest at least. Tomorrow, and the start of Ford’s new project, would still be too soon coming, but Stan vowed to smack his brother if Ford tried to get him up at the crack of dawn.

“There are no bedsheets,” Ford suddenly commented and Stan resisted the urge to smack the nerd right that instance.

“If you want me to let you have a look at my gem tomorrow, you better let me sleep, Poindexter.”

Ford was silent for a moment, before murmuring: “Noted.” The other man very pointedly made himself comfortable against Stan’s back.

Stan didn’t fail to notice how the position kept Stan’s gem shielded between their bodies. He wasn’t sure if the was some protective instinct that drove Ford to do that, but for Stan it was a comfort. Ford wouldn’t let anyone touch him or his gem again.


	2. Shape-Shifting

Ford was starting to think that he might not have considered all the angles of having Stan join him in Gravity Falls. Then again, how was he supposed to know that somewhere during the years Stan had developed an aversion to laboratories? The first time he ever heard about it was when he took Stan to the basement level where he could use his equipment to take a closer look at his gem.

As soon as the two had stepped out of the elevator, Stan backed up, all the way back into the corner of the elevator.

Ford turned at the motion, giving Stan an incredulous look. "What are you doing?"

"Not coming into a _lab_ ," Stan said, almost pressed up against the elevator wall. "Labs are _creepy_."

"Honestly, Stanley." Ford approached his brother. "Don't be childish. I need the equipment here to check your gem."

Stan's petulant expression didn't fade. Instead he slid down the wall, curling into a slouch on the floor. "No." His posture was so focused on hiding away that Ford suspected that if he'd been wearing anything heavier than a sleeveless top he would have been attempting to bury himself in it.

Ford glared at his brother's sitting form. "You know, I could just grab you and carry you inside. I'm strong enough to do that." In fact, he was already considering the best places to grip to balance his brother.

"Do that and I'll punch you," Stan replied with no hesitation, finally looking up at Ford unflinchingly.

The downside to being whatever they were was that they were too strong to fight each other willy-nilly. Ford really didn't think it was a good idea to try to force his brother to do anything when there were so many breakable pieces of equipment around. Never mind the fact that he wasn't so sure if Stan was just being contrary for its own sake if he was willing to go as far as hitting his twin.

"Alright, then," Ford conceded. "We'll try again another time."

"The weekday isn't going to make your lab any less creepy," Stan grumbled sullenly from his position on the floor.

Ford frowned. "Maybe I'll set up something upstairs. Would that be okay?"

Ford's new suspicion that something more was going on was all but confirmed when Stan actually visibly gave thought to the suggestion. Finally he said: "I think so."

"Alright, then." Ford stepped into the elevator. "There's actually something else we can do today, now that I have an extra pair of hands available." He figured a swift change in subject would help Stan buck up faster.

"As long as I don't have to go into any labs," Stan said with a grunt, heaving himself off the floor as the door slid closed.

"No, no, we're going into the woods." Ford dug through his pockets for his notes on the gnomes, full of interview questions and quickly jotted down answers. "I need to observe the gnomes in their natural habitat. They seem intelligent enough to have their own culture and I'm interested in its particulars."

"Yeah, okay." Stan crossed his arms as the elevator lifted them back to ground level. "What do you have planned?"

"First we need to scout the gnome territory and place some surveillance gear around." Ford dug out the schematics for his self-designed recording devices, warming up to the subject. "These things can record several hours' worth of visual and audio input without losing data."

Stan leaned over to look at the notes, frowning. "Looks kind of like a hassle," he grumbled. "Couldn't you just turn into a gnome and infiltrate the place?"

Ford paused, suddenly feeling like he was having a completely different conversation. He simply had no context for what Stan had just said. "What?"

Stan and Ford locked gazes, both trying to convey complex thoughts with a simple look. It had about as much success as expected so Stan spoke out loud: "Turn into a gnome. You know, shape-shifting?"

"I can't shape-shift," Ford deadpanned. Frankly, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to if he did have such an ability, all things considering. You couldn't trust shape-shifters. He stepped out of the elevator and Stan stomped after him.

"What do these gnome things look like? I'll show you how."

Ford whirled around to his brother. "'Show me how'? How do you know how?"

Stan's shoulders were hunched, his hackles rising at Ford's question. "What? Didn't you ever experiment with what you could do?"

"Not like that!" Ford snapped, raising and lowering his hands as he tried and failed to wrap his head around what Stan was saying. "Why would I want to change who I am?"

Stan scoffed. "I guess _you_ wouldn't get it." He moved closer to the center of the den, where he had space to spread his arms around. "Look, it's like that thing you said about Miriam. Our gems are the actually solid part of us." With that Stan glowed pale green and Ford was looking at a stranger.

Releasing a startled yelp, Ford's glasses almost fell off in his shock. He hurried to compose himself. "How are you doing that?" he asked as he adjusted his glasses.

Stan turned around and Ford saw the familiar emerald still on his shoulder. "The gem's still there," Stan explained. "The rest is just what I think." Then there was another burst of light and Stan looked as he had before. "I do have a default I need to return to eventually." The man laughed. "I get some serious gut pains if I look different for too long."

At first Ford had been concerned and upset over Stan's ability. If he'd been able to change his hands before... But then Stan had confirmed that they did have a default and it made sense that Ford had never stumbled on this ability to remove his abnormality. It seemed that no matter how malleable his body was, there were some things that were just a natural part of it.

Ford fidgeted with his notes, shuffling the papers as he watched his brother. They really were almost identical, by default. Ford steeled his will. "Do you think you can teach me?"

"Yes." Stan had crossed the distance between them before Ford was sure he'd even processed the question. Stan hands caught Ford's own, stilling their restless movements. The expression on Stan's face was almost wonder and Ford allowed himself to smile.

Stan was so eager to share this ability, instead of lording it over Ford. Ford had forgotten what it was like, to have a person in his life who was so unconditionally helpful, who wanted to see him succeed instead of viewing him as competition.

"Okay." Ford's answer rode out on a laugh and he put his notes away to give Stan his full attention. "How does this work?"

Stan was backing away again, expression considering. Finally, he spoke out: "You gotta let go."

"Like meditation?" Ford guessed. "Do I need to be a blank slate?"

"Definitely not." Stan waved a hand dismissively. "How would you know what you're changing into? Nah, you gotta let go of your body, you know, your shape. You can't change what you're too attached to."

"Yes, that makes sense," Ford murmured, looking at his hands again. "Humans don't change their appearance on thought alone, and even a hairstyle change is enough to change their outlook to a more positive or a negative one."

"Shermie said humans are a stiff race," Stan agreed. "They were pretty familiar with shape-shifting too."

Ford merely grunted in response. It wasn't that he was opposed to discussing their late older sibling. Still, the mood had been nice, it had been him and Stan sharing something and now Stan was talking like Shermie had also known about this.

"Did Shermie teach you?" Ford couldn't help but ask.

Stan laughed. "No way! This is all me. Shermie was pretty attached to their shape too, said they were human like that." The cheerful mood slipped and Stan looked lost for a moment. "They said...they said that was how they could become pregnant."

Truth be told, Ford could have kicked himself for not considering that before. How was their species compatible with humans enough for Shermie to have a baby with one anyway? Shape-shifting was the obvious answer. But to uphold a different form for nine months...

"What's you limit?" Ford asked then. "You said you start feeling ill if you change yourself for too long."

"Depends," Stan answered, tone not yet back to his usual more flippant demeanour. "Example, if I do little things like hairstyles, I can keep it up almost as long as I want. If I change my body type, make myself taller or older or whatever, that's maybe a day at a time." The man grinned, albeit it was a touch forced. "I trained hard for that number."

A daylong excursion among the gnomes would no doubt produce a great amount of irreplaceable data. And who knows, maybe they wouldn't leave it at just the gnomes. They could study the entire forest, disguised in the numerous forms of its inhabitants.

"Very well," Ford said with determination. "So I just need to think of being a gnome?" He focused on that thought, but nothing happened. He thought about shrinking, about fluffy beards, but it produced no results. He frowned. "I'm still missing something."

"You kind of need to see what you wanna be," Stan said, rubbing his chin in thought. "I'm good at remembering faces, so I change that at the drop of a hat." As Stan spoke, Ford briefly wondered why on earth Stan had developed an ability to change his face in an instant. "Hey," Stan snapped his fingers and walked over to grab Ford's arm. "We should start with other humans, since those are the easiest. Your office has all those posters of your favorite nerds. Let's use those for reference."

"They are respected physicists, not nerds," Ford corrected even as he allowed Stan to drag him through the shack all the way into his office.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Stan grumbled, not sounding like he was getting it at all. "The point is you look up to these guys, probably wanted to be them at some point." He spread out his arms dramatically. "Now you _can_ , so get to it, bro!"

"Right." Ford's focus zeroed on a A4 image of Nikola Tesla he had pinned on the wall. There were many scientists he'd admired along the years, but Tesla was one of the oldest ones. He was confident that this choice would lead him to the mental state where he would be able to change himself.

There was a warmth inside Ford and he released a breath, thinking he felt the warmth expanding. Excited, he turned to Stanley. "How did I do?"

"Great!" Stan gave him a thumbs up. "You even picked a nice target to shift into: me! No, wait." He made a show of squinting at Ford. "Never mind; that's just your regular looking-like-me."

"Stanley," Ford snapped. "I'm trying here!"

Stan lifted his hands in a disarming gesture. "Sorry," he said, actually sounding apologetic for once. "I just, it's frustrating. I figured this out naturally so I don't get what's so hard to you."

Ford turned away from Stan, glaring at a wall and feeling inadequate. What if he _couldn't_ shape-shift? What if, no matter how hard he practised, it would never work out?

"The bit they did it, Shermie was good at it too," Stan added and Ford saw red.

"Yeah, really good," Ford said more to the wall than to Stan. "Good enough to kill themself with it."

Ford swore he felt any ambient noise just keel over dead. In the silence, Stan drew in a breath, sharp enough that it sounded like a distorted whistle.

Everything felt a touch off as Ford whirled around to his brother, an excuse already rising to his lips: "I didn't _mean_ to say that, Stanley."

Stan was tense, hands clenched and the constructed muscles on his arms taut. Ford had seen this silent, physical promise of violence before, but never directed at himself. It was surreal, as it was when Stan spoke, voice rising with distrust: "Are you saying you didn't mean it or you just didn't mean for me to hear it?"

"Stanley," Ford implored, even as he doubted his brother would hear him out. Indeed, Stan did shoot him a downright venomous glare and Ford clammed up, not really used to seeing such hostility outside of his childhood bullies, especially coming from his brother.

"Geez, Ford," Stan said in a gravelly drawl, sounding tired and disappointed. "Shermie's barely gone and you're already disrespecting their memory." He crossed his arms, clearly trying to shake off any threat in his body language even as his anger wasn't dissipating. "Why do you hate our family so much?"

"I don't hate our family!" Ford didn't believe Stan could assume such a thing. "I especially don't hate Shermie." He started to approach his twin. "Stanley, believe me."

"You always fight with our old man," Stan said. "And you barely keep in contact with anyone." He growled as he ran a hand through his hair, messing up the slicked back look completely. "You know _ma_ asked me to come with you, 'cause she was worried about you?"

"I just get absorbed in my work," Ford argued. "She doesn't need to worry."

"And pops?" Stan proceeded to cross his arms again, both physically and verbally rebuffing Ford's efforts. "And Shermie?"

"Pops has always been a jerk," Ford snapped, feeling a crackle of electricity between his fingers, like a subconscious reaction to the very thought of his father, who'd never even wanted to or tried to understand his children's special nature. Stan had always fit in more easily, but Ford's powers were so much more likely to act up, and he'd never heard the end of it.

Ford clenched his hands. "As for Shermie, I loved them as much as you did. I just, I don't understand." He couldn't shape-shift like Shermie, he hadn't known about Shermie's pregnancy until it was too late, he didn't know how much Shermie and Stanley had stayed in touch while Ford hadn't as much as gotten a card from his own twin. Why did Shermie do the things they did? Why was Stan so focused on them?

Stan sighed, deep and long. "Okay, fine," he grumbled. "Just, don't do that again, okay?" He gave Ford a serious look. "Shermie helped me out a lot this last year, and I never got to properly thank them."

Maybe that was why Stanley had been so in love with the idea of raising Miriam as his own, Ford mused. The very thought exhausted him even more.

"At least I still have the cameras," he murmured.

"Hey," Stan shifted, releasing his arms like he considered reaching out for Ford for a moment. In the end he placed his hands in his pockets, however. "Hey, I saw you glow at that last bit. You're definitely getting somewhere. You just gotta get the shape to come out of you."

"Out of me..." Ford recalled how he'd felt that warmth spreading. He'd stopped too soon. "I'll practise some more," he said with new determination.

"You do, that, bro." Stan grinned. "And, hey, you can still use me, you know. I'll turn into any critter you need."

"We'll see," Ford said, even though it wasn't what he was thinking. What he was thinking was that this could be something they could do together, investigating the wonders of Gravity Falls deeper than Ford had ever before, sharing in something magical. Surely that would go a long way in mending the relationship that had been so worn down by their separation.

Now, if he could just make it a reality.


End file.
